The Case of the Mistaken Terrorists
by CorprallFrond
Summary: What appears to be a case of mistaken identity get complicated. When a war hero start flirting with John it doesn't sit well with Sherlock. Mild slash later
1. Murder of Hale

"Your not still are still mad are you? " Sherlock looked over at John who had insisted on sitting as far for him as possible in the cab. He had turn his body to face the window. John turned to Sherlock a rare expression of anger on his face.

"Yes Sherlock I am still mad. You through a skull at me. Now I actually need this cane." He said wave his cane in his face. John was using his old crutch from his psychosamatic limp. Sherlock shrugged.

"He insulted me. It not my fault you were walking up the stairs as I threw him, and I said sorry."

"No. No, you didnt say sorry." Sherlock looked pensive for a moment.

"Hmm, I didnt did I? Well apologies John. Can you forgive me? "

"Fine." John grumbled. Sherlock smiled. John was always a sucker for when Sherlock said sorry. It might have something to do with how little he said it. He settled back into the seat of the cab. He was looking forward to this case. It was usually something big when Lestrade texted at 1am. Apparently normal *cough*boring*cough* people are asleep by this time. That and the fact that the address was in a high class neighborhood.

"Coming?" Sherlock was shaken out his thoughts to see they had pulled up. The house was nice, very rich. John was by the open cab door waiting on him. Sherlock slid out of the cab, and immediately started of in the direction of the house. Behind he heard John shouting.

"Sherlock it your turn to pay... hey get back here."

John limped through the doorway where Sherlock was standing.

"Took you long enough." He sighed.

"Lets not forget whats slowing me down, and I had to pay for the cab again. If you could just patient for once-"Sherlock tuned him out, and stalked up Lestrade and Donovan who were going over notes.

"What is it?" He directed at Lestrade.

"Hello Freak." Donovan wrinkled like she had smelt something bad. Sherlock didnt have a chance to reply before John spoke.

"Careful Sally, your face could get like that." Sherlock snickered, and Donovan shot them both evil look before stalking off.

"Dear God. One day just one day could you all be civil?" Lestrade pleaded.

"No, now will you show us the body already?" Lestrade rolled his eyes, and lead them through the house reading off a clipboard as he walked.

"Caucasian, male, 46, 511," He was still talking when opened the bedroom door. "Single gun shot to the- FOR GOD SAKES." Lestrade shouted, and stormed off in the direction of a loud crash. Donovan and Anderson were in the corner making a point to ignore them. Sherelock strode into the room. There was a man laying in the large posh bed up against the wall. He was on his back his face looking up at the ceiling. His eyes were closed, he never had the chance to wake up. There was a single gun shot wound the forehead, execution style. The gun was laying across the mans cheast most likely wiped of prints. There must have been a reason the killer left the the bed written in the mans blood was Sig Semper Teranus.

"Sig semper teranus, thus always to tyrants. The motto of every wack job."

"I didnt know you had a motto." Anderson sneered. Sherlock turn to make an insult about his wife not being the only unfaithful one when he noticed John. He was standing in the doorway and hadnt moved an inch. One hand was gripping the top of his crutch till his knuckles turned white, and the slight tremor in his left hand had returned. It wasnt too noticeable, but Sherlock couldnt miss it. John had gone pale and his eyes looked haunted.

"John-"Sherlock took a step toward his friend, but John moved forward and walked past him to the body. He was staring at the gun, and picked it up in his gloved hand. When he spoke his voice was cold and distant.

"Sig Sauer p226, semi-automatic, the basic design of the p220, length 196mm, barrel 122mm, width 38.1mm, height 140mm, 10 round polymer magazine, .357 cartridge , and mechanically locked." John turned to face them. Donovan raised her eyebrows.

"How did you know that?"

"Used by several armys including the British in the Afghan war."There was a moment of silence.

"So the man was killed by a soldier? " Anderson asked. John shook his head and Sherlock sighed exasperated.

"Anderson stop inflicting your stupidity on the world. The gun is a message. "

"Is this man a soldier? The ultimate insult to be killed by your own gun." At that moment Lestrade walked in to the room.

"No, but get this his brother-in-law is Gerold Grant." John looked shocked.

"The Gerold Grant?"

"Apparently. "

"What do you think that means? "

"Im not sure I just found out myself -"

"WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?" Sherlock shouted interrupting their conversation. Lestrade sighed and began a long detailed monologue which Sherlock abruptly tuned out. He turned to John.

"John summary." He demanded cutting Lestrade off. John sighed.

"The man was in the Afghan war he save a bunch of his men and killed a bunch of bad guys." John spoke with a voice one usually reserved for toddlers. Sherlock threw him a dirty look.

"Well let go have a chat with them, shall we?" Sherlock walked of the door. Behind him he could hear Donovan ask John why he had his crutch. He chuckle and reply that she wouldnt believe him if he told her. It was probably true. Who would believe he was hit by a flying skull?

Sherlock and John had split up, Sherlock taking the wife and John her brother. Sherlock hoped he would relate to a fellow soldier and open up. The wife had dark brown waist length hair. She was small, about 57, only a little shorter then John by about an inch. Sherlock figured she would be what most people would call pretty if it werent for her cold, mean eyes. Every word out of her mouth was about her ; what am **I **going to do?, How will **I **every go in to that room again?. A self centered and mean women, yes. Murderer, most likely not. Not that that meant she was innocent. It only mean the blood wasnt on her hands. Sherlock asked what she had done that day, and all the usual and unusual questions. He gathered that that the night went like this ; the wife, Courtney, and her brother had decided to go to the cinema. Her brother, Gerold, who was back from the war and recovering from knee surgery after being shot had been staying with them. The husband, Thane Hale, who had become rich off the invention of dental floss sticks. Thane stayed home saying that he wasnt feeling well. When the brother and sister returned Gerold headed to the guest room, next door, and Courtney to her room. When Courtney screamed and ran out the run she ran into her brother who had heard her scream and ran to the next room. He took her down stairs and tried to calm her down while they waited for Scotland Yard. When Sherlock finished with the wife leaving her crying considerably harder, and Donovan a good deal madder he went looking for John.

Sherlock stopped around the corner, and listened to the voices of John and the brother. He was hoping to hear something useful that John might miss. He could see there reflection in a mirror in the hall. Gerold Grant look a lot like his sister, but where she was cold and mean he was warm and kind. He was tall about 60. Not as tall as Sherlock, but definitely taller than John. He had warm brown eyes and short brown military hair. He had handsome strong feature and a naturally smiling face. He and John were standing in front of a large fireplace.

"Can you think of anyone who might have a grudge against Thane?"

"Well last week was in a fight with a friend of his, but hes a nice guy. He introduced me to an ex boyfriend of mine."Sherlock couldnt figure out why he was suddenly so angry. All that he knew was that he didnt like the way Grant was looking at John, like a piece of meat.

"Do you know what the fight was about?" John didnt react to the obvious hint.

"No he didnt say... Im sorry I have to ask. I know its not my place. That guy you walked in with, is he your boyfriend? "Sherlock listened intently.

"Sherlock? No, hes just a friend."Sherlock couldnt explain the rush of sadness throught him in that moment. Sherlock could see Grant lean down resting an arm against the mantelpiece, and flash John a smile.

"So you follow your friend solving murders. Im almost afraid to ask what you do in your free time." He and John both laughed. Sherlock felt his anger welling up in him.

"I dont get much between crime scenes, the surgery, and chasing murderers." Both men laughed. Sherlock cursed himself for send John to talk to the other solider alone.

"So John, what do you say to getting a coffee sometime. Between crime scenes, the surgery, and chasing murderers of course."Before John could respond Sherlock rounded the corner.

"John, coming?"

"One moment Sherlock. "

"Now John!" John rolled his eyes and turned to Grant.

"Sorry social situations, even crime scenes, tend to make he grumpy." The two shook hands.

"I hope to see you around, John." Grant said a bit too warmly for Sherlocks taste. He snatched John by the wrist and drug him from the room.


	2. Two Epiphanies

"What the bloody hell was that, Sherlock?" John asked as they climbed in the cab.

"I wanted to go home." Sherlock replied lamely. He couldn't think of anything better to say.

"Sherlock I know your not telling me the truth, but I'm not going to ask. I know how useless it is to try to make you talk when you get like this." Sherlock had to hide his surprise at the fact John was not insisting on pestering him about. That was John for you. Not many people could surprise Sherlock, but John could always manage. They then slipped into a comfortable silence as the cab continued down the dimly lit streets.

"What did you find out." Sherlock broke the silence.

"What?" John looked bewildered.

"Honestly, keep up John. Did you learn anything from the brother."

"Yes, Gerold and his sister when to see a movie. When they returned both headed to their rooms, and that's when the sister found the body."

"So you two are on a first name bases now?" Sherlock sneered. John looked at Sherlock shocked.

"Are-are you jealous, Sherlock?" Sherlock stiffened at his words.

"No." He denied

"Sherlock, your jealous. I can have other friends than you know."

"Ha," Sherlock laughed bitterly. "I don't think he was looking for friendship"

"Your jealous of a man flirting with me? Well don't worry Sherlock I'm not interested in him." John huffed.

There was silence for a long moment. Then it hit him. John hadn't instantly denied being gay even though it was a man in question, and had simply said he wasn't interested. What did the mean exactly? He was always so quick to deny being gay when someone assumed they were a couple.

John finally unable to take the heavy awkward silence. "So, what do you think of the case?"

Sherlock razed an eyebrow. "That's my line, John." He replied coolly.

"Well, then you should have said it." John chuckled. Sherlock couldn't help but smile back. Something about John's smiles seemed to be contagious. He couldn't remember smiling like this before John. In fact Sherlock could barely remember life before John.

"The wife is obviously hiding something, and if she know something so does her brother. The killer entered through the window-"

"Wait, there was a window?" John cut in. Sherlock looked at him honestly shocked.

"The large one in the bedroom. The killer, a man, climbed through the window. The room was on the second floor, so the killer had to be strong enough to have pulled himself up. He is also extremely agile if he managed to get into the room through the window without the husband waking. Then there's the fact that he isn't in his peak physical condition most likely due to age. Which is noticeable by the scuff on windowsill where his step faltered. Donovan and Anderson were standing in front of it. That why I didn't bother to check it. I knew there was nothing else useful after they mucked things up. That's why you need to limp faster, John. Next time the window won't be all they ruin."

"Brilliant, bloody brilliant." John praised purposely ignoring the insult at the end. Sherlock looked smug, and sat up a little straighter.

"Obvious John. If you would only observe. Now may I continue?" John nodded.

"Even thought the wife is the one who appeared to be hiding something its the brother we should aim is hiding something, but the brother is just dying for someone to tell."

"Don't you think that maybe the husband was mistaken for the brother and killed? The point-blank shot is common mode of killing with Afghan prisoners. I've seen it." Sherlock wasn't quite sure how to react to the haunted look in his friend's eyes.

"I think it was made to look like that."

"Wait, you think it was set up?" John asked. Sherlock didn't respond. He was sure he was on to something. Sherlock didn't like to elaborate on his theories. It left the chance of his being wrong, and it gave him the chance for a dramatic reveal at the end. In the world of the mundane dramatic was good.

Sherlock walked behind John as he pulled out the keys and unlocked the door. He crept behind as John slowly limped up the stairs. They were halfway when John turned around. "You don't have to walk behind me. I know I'm going slow, and-" John's voice petered out as his eyes locked onto Sherlock's. Sherlock seemed transfixed with his impossibly blue eyes. They were a swirling mass of blue with small flecks of brown around the pupil. He wonder why he never noticed before. John's face was level with Sherlock's from the height of the extra stair. Sherlock was becoming painfully aware of how close their faces were. A blush was crawling up John's neck, and across his nose, and Sherlock found himself fascinated by it.

They both jumped at the sound of someone clearing their throat behind them. At the base of the stair stood a very smug looking Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock remembered it was about 6AM. It only made sense that Mrs. Hudson was wake. "Do you two want some fairy cakes? I made too many." She was looking at them fondly, like a mother on her son's first date. Frankly it made Sherlock uncomfortable.

"No thanks Mrs. H. He won't eat on a case and I need to get some sleep." John answered politely. His blush was starting to fade.

Sherlock didn't speak. He couldn't. He was shocked. Could he be attracted to John Watson? He had never felt anything for anyone before. This was not good. There was a reason he was married to his work. No had ever been romantically attracted to him either. At least not after they had known him for a few minutes. He walked into the sitting room wordless. He mind felt hazy. Was John attracted to Sherlock? No, he made a point of telling everyone he wasn't gay. When they meet John had told his that he wasn't interested. Then what was that on the Stairs? God! Sherlock didn't know he wasn't sure. It was probably a misinterpretation of his own feelings and the fact John was a bit tired and the fact he was still running on the adrenalin of the case.

It took Sherlock a minute to realise John was speaking to him. "Huh?" Very eloquent Sherlock.

"I said wake me up if you find something. I'm going back to sleep."

"Sure." Sherlock waved him off. He pushed his thoughts of John out of his head, and switching his thought to the case.

"Sherlock did you hear me?"

"What?" Sherlock looked up from his bird like perch in the chair. John huffed an almighty sigh.

"I said. Don't blow anything up."

"I'll try John not to." John walked off knowing that was going to be the closest thing to reassurance that Sherlock would give.

Sherlock searched his mind for a lead. He closed his eyes and ran through the whole day. He paused and zoomed in on anything he deemed important. Two hours, four nicotine patches, and six different sitting positions later it struck him like a ton of bricks. How had he been so stupid? The coat. He had been so busy dragging John away from Grant. Wait, was that why he was so angry, because he was jealous. No! He would think about that later. The coat behind the door on the coat rack. It had a hair on it. A long blond female hair. Thane was having an affair. Fast forward to the cab ride back. There had been an ad for a private investigator service. If the wife had been suspicious she would have gone there.

Sherlock rushed upstairs to wake John. He flung open the door, and move over to John's form on the bed. He looked younger asleep, not so tired and war worn. If Sherlock paused he would have noticed that John was in REM sleep, and the tense twitching of his muscles and so was induced into full dreaming mode. "John, John wake up." Sherlock shook his shoulder.

John let out a scream and simultaneously let a fist fly that connected with Sherlock's nose. He was flung against the wall, but immediately pulled himself up ignoring the blood dripping down his face. Sherlock grabbed his shoulders. "Shh. John it okay. Your here. I'm here. It's all right." John took a few shaky breaths. He finally pulled back to look at Sherlock.

"Shit Sherlock. I'm so sorry, your nose."

"I'm fine. Are you alright?" Sherlock brushed him off.

"I'm fine just a nightmare. There has been far too much to remind me of Afghanistan today. Now let me see your nose." Sherlock complied. John's tone left no room for argument.

John grabbed Sherlock's hand and pulled him into their bathroom, and set him down. John wet a rag, and began whipping away the blood. All the while he uttered apologies. "John its fine. You have nothing to be sorry for." After Sherlock spoke John stood.

"Your right. Couldn't you tell I was having a nightmare? What on earth was so important anyway?" Sherlock smiled.

"We have a lead."

"What?" John asked sudden burst of anger forgotten.

"Thane Hale was having an affair."


	3. The Private Detective

**This chapters not very long. I should have the next one up soon thought. Please review!**

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"Please Mr. Milton you have to help me." Sobbed the tall dark haired man sitting across the desk in a plush leather chair.

"There, there now tell me what's the matter." The man cooed. He handed the pale individual a tissue to mop up the tires streaming down his face. This pale individual was one Sherlock Holmes. It only took a second for Sherlock to deduce Mr. Milton. He was American, from a southern state evident by the southern drawl, he had been living in London for sometime judging from the way it was fast fading. He was not married, and keep a large dog, possibly black lab he couldn't be sure, who he was very close to.

"I think my boyfriend's cheating on me and I not sure what to do. A friend told me about you, and I thought I'd check it out." Yeah right. Sherlock was pretty sure that this man couldn't detect an elephant in a tea cup. Not a complete idiot, bit not very competent.

"Well, I can assure you if he is we will catch him." Ha, if his boyfriend could be caught by this imbecile then he didn't deserve Sherlock's attention. Sherlock could never imagine someone like John being caught by this idiot. Oh God! There he went again thinking about John when his attention was needed else where. When this case was over. Then he could sort through his feeling for John, or better yet, maybe not. He could always bottle up his feelings, and fight off all his long repressed emotions.

"I don't want him to find out about this. If I'm wrong he'll never trust me again." Sherlock faked more tears that were now rolling down his cheeks.

"Don't worry, Mr. Sanders. You can be sure that I will be extremely diligent. I've yet to be caught, and I've been doing this for five years."

'You have got be kidding. Is everyone that stupid?' This is what Sherlock truly thought but he had to stay in character. "Thank you Mr. Milton. My boyfriend John." Sherlock said the first name that popped into his head. God, that sounded so right 'My boyfriend John'. "He always covers our finances."

"Don't worry, my boy. You can pay with cash, or check. It's just £325, and I only ask that you pay up front." Sherlock nodded.

"I need proof though, Mr Milton I don't think I could believe anything without seeing it myself." God this man was so easy. Sherlock was having no trouble directing this conversation the way he wanted.

"I understand Mr. Sanders. I always take photographic proof for my clients." Mr. Milton spoke with fake sympathy that made Sherlock feel sick. He may not care, but at lest he said so. Nothing bothered Sherlock more than the fake and cold hearted.

Sherlock was not as cold hearted as everyone believed. When Moriarty had taken the hostages and strapped bombs to each and everyone of them, it wasn't that Sherlock didn't care. No, he only forced himself to focus on the case. It was the only way to save them. He had worked a case once, before John's time. A women had followed her lover willingly even after he had murdered her brother. In the end she faced no consequences for her actions. He had remarked on the unjust of it. Donovan had responded that if they locked her up they would have to do the same to Sherlock, for he wasn't just cold hearted, but as heartless as the woman. That had hurt though he hadn't let it show.

Sherlock pushed those thoughts out of his mind. He had learned what he needed. If Courtney had come here, which Sherlock was sure she did, she would have photographic proof. If he and John could find the pictures then they could prove she knew about the affair, and therefor had a motive.

"Thank you, sir. I'll think this over." Milton nodded.

"I understand. You take your time and think on it." Sherlock nodded, and made for the door.

John was waiting outside on the street for him. He had just slipped his phone in his pocket when Sherlock walked out the door.

"Lestrade called. Bullet that killed Thane matched the gun on his body. They couldn't find any fingerprints."

"Just as I expected. Send him a text telling him to check if Courtney withdrew £325, or made out a check of the same amount. It will prove that she payed for that pathetic detective. Also see if she withdrew a significant amount of money for a decent and skilled hit man."

Sherlock strode down the street headed back towards home, with John behind trying to catch up but was finding it difficult due to the length of Sherlock's enormous strides. John sent the text and finally caught up with Sherlock. He slipped his phone back in his pocket, and gave Sherlock that look.

"Was the costume really necessary?" John eyes Sherlock's dress of bright red v-neck shirt, black skinny jeans, and his hair slicked back on his head rather than his usual curls that bounced around as he walked.

"Not costume, John. It is a disguise. There is a difference." Sherlock stated ignoring the looks from people on the street. John rolled his eyes.

"Whatever you say, Sherlock. So lets see we know that the killer came throught the window, was a professional, and that the victim was having an affair." John said. Sherlock sighed.

"Honestly, John! We know a lot more than that." Sherlock whined.

"Fine, enlighten me." John rolled his eyes.

"The killer is an older, short left handed, male." John shook his head.

"How-" He stared.

"He's old from the scuff on the window. A short male from the examination of the blood on the wall. A man writes above his head, a woman in front of her face. For there you can calculate his height.

"That was amazing." Sherlock smiled. Sherlock looked over at John. He had an idea, but John wasn't doing to like it. Frankly Sherlock didn't like it either.

"John I need you to find out if Grant knew about the affair." Sherlock said continuing to walk.

"How am I going to do that? " John frowned.

"Well, he seemed very interested in you-" John's eyes widened.

"No, no! Just no." John shook his head.

"Oh come on! Just one of those silly 'dates' you go on. I'm not asking you to do anything. Just talk it out of him." Sherlock insisted. John sighed.

"Fine. If anyone I know sees me. I will kill you." He shot Sherlock a dirty look. Sherlock just grinned.


	4. Date Night and The Morning After

**Please review.**

**disclaimer: I own nothing.**

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Sherlock sat in his chair his thoughts unable to stray from John's impending date. When they got home John had called Grant and invited him to dinner and a movie. Grant had happily agreed. Sherlock could hear him getting ready now. This was one idea of his own that Sherlock was now starting to regret.

"Sherlock?" Sherlock looked up his eyes widened and his mouth went dry. John was standing in the doorway still wet from his shower. He had a towel wrapped around his waist that left little to the imagination. Water dripped from his wet tousled hair down his face. His dog tags glistened catching the light and flicking it across the room.

"You still wear your dog tags?" Sherlock wanted to hit himself. Was that all he could say? The man he had...fallen for... was standing in front of him half-naked, and that was all he could say? John looked down at his neck bit puzzled.

"Yeah, I never really take them off. The army never really leaves you. Anyway as I was about to say, have you seen my Jumper?."

"Oh right. I burned it. Well actually I used it to put out a fire." Sherlock said tearing his eyes from John's chest.

"Sherlock that was my jumper!" John shouted.

"Sorry, wear the cream one. It looks better on you anyway." Sherlock internally winced. He didn't mean to say that. An emotion flashed across John's face, confusion, inquisitive It had gone before Sherlock could deduce anything remotely useful.

"Fine." John shook his head almost to himself, and walked back up the stairs. Sherlock let out a breath. That could have gone much worse.

Sherlock sat pouting in his chair. John had left for his date with Grant at seven, it was almost eleven. Sherlock jumped up pacing, and periodically checking the window. He had done this all night. Mrs. Hudson had brought his tea earlier. She gave him an odd look smiling when he looked out the window.

"He'll be back soon, deary." She cooed in her good-natured tone.

"I know that! I'm just bored." Sherlock had snapped. She just smirked, and shook her head before walking to the door.

Sherlock had never liked it when John went on dates. This was different though. Sherlock didn't know why. Maybe it was because it was a man, or that Sherlock had actually witnessed Grant's shameless flirting.

He was about to throw himself onto the couch, and continue to suddenly noticed two men coming down the street. Sherlock stood at the window. John, who was quite obviously drunk, had his arm around Grant's shoulders for support. They laughed and chatted as Grant walked John to the door.

Sherlock watched as they said their goodbyes. Suddenly Grant leaned down kissing John. Sherlock was running down the stairs to the front door before he knew what happened. He threw open the front door. John looked shocked his eyes wide. Grant seemed oblivious as he continued to kiss John.

Something snapped in Sherlock, and everything went red as he stepped forward. He roughly grabbed Grant's shoulder pulling his back. Grant looked like he was about to protest when the other man's fist connected with his nose. He stumbled back, and Sherlock quickly grabbed a stunned John's wrist pulling him inside. He slammed the door behind him. John blinked finally overcoming his shock.

"Bloody hell! Sherlock I think you broke his nose!" John shouted. Sherlock had stared to calm down. He felt like an idiot. He knew what he did was stupid and rash. So he did the sensible thing (to him at least) . He lashed out.

"What the hell were you thinking!? Getting drunk!" He shouted.

"I was think that if I want to make it through this date I was going to need some alcohol! " John screamed. "We went to a pub after the movie. And anyway why the hell do you care if he kissed me!? " Sherlock froze.

There was no safe way to answer that. So he didn't. He turned running up the stairs. He ran to his room quickly shutting the door behind him. He flopped himself on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

He knew perfectly well why he cared. He had feelings for John, his flatmate, and best friend. The sight of him kissing another man. Not Sherlock. It was like a hot poker in his gut that someone was painfully twisting.

He could hear John stop in front of his door. The detective didn't say a word barely daring to breathe. He watched the shadow under the door as John walked away. Sherlock let out a breathe. He could hear John stumble up the stair to his room. He knew, as he laid back on his pillow, that tomorrow would be hell.

Sherlock stared at the ceiling for at least twenty-minute before he had the nerve to get out of bed. He took a quick shower dreading leaving his room. He didn't want to see John after last night. He walked into the sitting room wrapped in his blue dressing gown. He sighed, John hadn't ventured from his room yet. He flung himself across the couch deciding to play dumb. Not his favorite tactic, but it might work.

Sherlock was slipping into his mind. He was going over the facts in his head. He suddenly felt the whole room shift and the air thicken. He instantly knew John had walked in. It took all his will not to look at him. He forced himself not to open his eyes, or move from his spot. He didn't think he could hold onto his composer if he looked at John now.

After a moment John moved to the kitchen started a pot of tea. The flat was eerily silent. Sherlock quietly on the couch resting the urge to look at John. John fixing tea and throwing glances over his shoulder at Sherlock. John sat down with his tea, and placed a cup on the coffee table in front of Sherlock who still refused to move. Sherlock knew it was a time bomb. Eventually they would speak, and the conversation would be directed at Sherlock lashing out. Sherlock thought best to direct it at a different aspect of the night.

"...Did you learn anything from Grant last night?" Sherlock didn't open his eyes as he spoke. John was silent for a minute.

"He didn't know about any affair, but he says that Hale was abusive." John finally said. Sherlock frowned sitting up.

"That can't be right-" Sherlock was cut off by footsteps on the stairs. Lestrade, and in a bad mood. Lestrade stormed into the sitting room and looked at them both.

"Would someone like to explain why Gerold Grant is saying you assaulted him? You broke his nose Sherlock!" The air seemed electric with tension.

Lestrade looked from John to Sherlock. John stared into his mug held tightly in his hands. Sherlock jumped up walking to stare out the window to hide his light blush. Lestrade shifted uncomfortably.

"He won't press charges as long as you stay away from him." Sherlock mustered a sneer turning around.

"Gladly." Lestrade nodded. The three just stood there awkwardly. Lestrade cleared his throat.

"I checked Courtney's financials. There wasn't money for a hitman. She did take out £325, but we can't link it to the detective agency. It's not enough for a search warrant." Lestrade said awkwardly.

"How do you expect me to get the photos?" Sherlock asked angry.

"I don't know, but it will probably be illegal and I don't want to know." He shook his head. "Tell me when you get something." He turned and hurried out leaving both men in a tense silence. Sherlock cleared his throat. John looked up at him from his tea.

"We need to get those pictures. We have no proof otherwise."

"You heard Lestrade. We can't get a search warrant." Sherlock clasped his hands together in mock prayer.

"I have a plan, but you're not going to like it..." John sighed pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Last time you said that I went on a date with a man and you broke his nose. What is it?" John asked nervously.


End file.
